


Not Only Angels Have Wings. (Geese Do As Well.)

by ConvenientAlias



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - The Soulmate Goose of Enforcement, Crack, Gen, Platonic Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-10-21 12:00:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17642393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConvenientAlias/pseuds/ConvenientAlias
Summary: The soulmate goose shows up for Christine in the middle of a performance.





	Not Only Angels Have Wings. (Geese Do As Well.)

The Opera Populaire was packed nearly every week, if not every night. As such, many peculiar things had happened in it. Soulmate geese did show up from time to time to hassle poor audience members out of their seats, down the row and into the city, to the cheers or boos of the rest of the audience and the annoyance of the actors who had to deal with the distraction. However, it had never occurred before that a soulmate goose showed up in the middle of a performance and landed squarely in the middle of the stage.

Christine had seen the goose flying in, and she had not faltered in her singing. She hoped it would be out soon, and whatever poor soul it chased would be gone with it, and the show could go on. But now, with the goose squinting at her, she paused.

Carlotta, already pissed at being forced to play a supporting role, glared at her. She took up her song again. The goose squawked. It projected almost as well as she did.

Then it lunged for her legs. Today she was in a trousers role, worse luck—less to protect her calves and thighs. She dodged quickly, sending a nervous grin at the audience, trying to make it look like a dance. The goose pecked at her again and again, sending her across the stage and back.  She finished her solo hastily. As Carlotta began to sing, she hissed down at the goose, “Not _now_!”

The goose honked and landed a solid bite on her knee. She screamed.

Carlotta was fed up. “A pause!” she called out to the director, who obligingly called the music to a halt. She took the fan she was using as a prompt and hit out at the goose. “Out! Out! You utter heathen, can’t you tell we’re in the middle of a show? Good lord, I’ve never seen the day…”

She seemed more annoyed than Christine, even. Christine wondered with a wince whether this was because the goose had obviously not been chasing Christine towards her, and there had been those couple of times they had hooked up—nothing serious, they both knew, but to have it rubbed in her face…

The goose flapped its wings. It lunged at Christine again, but Carlotta was ready. She stepped in front of Christine, grasped the goose by the neck, and hurled it offstage.

It barely recovered before hitting an audience member, flapping its wings and still landing less than gracefully. For a moment, it stared at Christine, beady eyes menacing. Christine sweated. She could go backstage, maybe, and they could get her understudy… a bit of a blow, with this being the opening night for this show, but it it was necessary…

Then the goose turned and took to the air. Every person in the audience tracked its flight, up to one of the private boxes, the de Chagny box, where it landed in front of Philippe and Raoul de Chagny. It didn’t hesitate before grabbing Raoul by the collar and lifting him straight up out of the box.

Soulmate geese were, after all, stronger than the average goose.

As the startled Vicomte flailed his legs and held on tight to his collar—he almost fell out of his jacket and into the crowd, a far fall—the goose swept back to the stage and dumped him right in front of Christine. It then circled around Christine and shoved her on top of him.

The audience was completely silent.

Christine tried to get off Raoul—she was sure he had at least some bruises from the way the goose had dumped him, and she didn’t need to squash them—but the goose made this difficult by jumping up and down on her back. At last, with a final triumphant squawk, it launched into the air again and flew out the open doors.

Christine got off Raoul. “Raoul! Are you all right?”

“Perfectly. I’m sorry to interrupt your show—I’ll be right off—” He was already scrambling to his feet.

“You’ve cut your forehead!”

“Nothing, it’s nothing.”

Christine glanced at Carlotta, who was still glaring. “Shall we go to my room?”

The audience had erupted into murmurs—well, to call the talk merely murmurs would be generous, as it ranged from loud gossip to actual hooting. It would take time to call them to heel, and perhaps an understudy would be best after all. For tonight, even her face would be a distraction.

Raoul flushed. “You can’t imagine—”

“Shh.” She pulled him along with her, off the stage. “I mean what I say, no more. Our minds needn’t be as dirty as theirs.”

“Of course.”

She squeezed his hand. “For what it’s worth, there’s no one I’d rather have. And we would always have been friends anyway.”

He was blushing now. Declarations of friendship embarrassed him as easily as romantic overtures. She shook her head. “To my room, before we are attacked by the press.”

* * *

The noble class heartily disapproved. Everyone shaking heads and tutting. Most of them secretly enjoying the scandal—a Vicomte and an opera girl, how rich!—except for a few who had been considering Raoul as an eligible bachelor. Philippe was the most put out—“So there’s nothing between you and the Swede, hm? Really, Raoul…”—but he was also one of the few who would believe it really was just a platonic bond. Probably because that was all he wanted it to be. He still had hopes of Raoul having a proper marriage.

Everyone outside the noble class, of course, was having a ball. The newspapers didn’t run it as a headline because there had been a lurid murder that week, but it still hit the front page. Every woman with dreams of a Cinderella story for herself sighed over the romance of it all. And everyone at the opera house congratulated Christine for an excellent match, except for Carlotta, who Christine managed, with some difficulty, to appease. So it went.

Christine didn’t try very hard to quiet the rumors. No one would believe her, anyhow. Platonic bonds were a well known phenomenon, but they were only expected between men and men or women and women. Between a man and a woman? One could claim what they wished, but still eyebrows would raise and whispers would circulate. Sooner or later it would all die down, and in the meantime it was good publicity.

She only regretted her failure to clarify matters when, four days after the event, she received a rather menacing note from Erik. Summoning her down to the tunnels to visit—where, he said, her soulmate would be waiting for.

She pinched her nose in exasperation. Why couldn’t the soulmate goose have stayed around to chase off troublesome phantoms? If it was so invested in her and Raoul’s eternal bliss… But the goose did what it was called to do, and the rest was left to mortals. With a sigh, she headed out.

* * *

“You chose _this_ over me? _This_?” Erik flapped a hand angrily at Raoul, who was currently tied to a chair and not looking very amused.

Christine’s hands were on her hips. “Technically I didn’t choose him at all. The goose did.”

“You told me I had nothing to worry about from—”

“I told you I wasn’t interested in men at all, so I don’t see why you’re acting like his rival.”

“Not interested in any men, and yet your soulmate is a man. You told me he was a childhood friend…”

“I told you the truth and nothing else. My affairs are none of your business, at any rate.”

“Christine would never lie,” Raoul put in. He didn’t seem all that intimidated despite Erik’s looming. In fact, he mostly looked a bit tired. Poor Raoul. She’d barely seen him since the goose had pushed them together, but she knew what a lot of badgering he was getting. All that and this on top of it… she should have seen it coming, really, but poor Raoul…

“Shh,” Erik said, not looking back at him. “Well, Christine? Explain yourself.”

“Oh, you’re not a cheated husband. Stop grandstanding.” She was tired too, and irritated. “Raoul and I have been best friends for years. I already told you that—we didn’t need a goose to…”

“Geese,” Erik said, “don’t come to _best friends_.”

“And yet you told me one once came to drive you into the arms of your Daroga, and the two of you were only friends.”

Erik angrily sat down on the chair next to Raoul’s—they were at a table with four chairs total, more guests than Erik had probably ever had at a go. “Don’t presume to know my relationship with Nadir. It is none of your business.”

Raoul and Christine exchanged glances. Well. This was almost worth it for that tidbit. Christine and Raoul had suspected Erik had some romantic connection to Nadir in the past for sometime—the two were awkward enough about it—but Erik would never give a straight answer. Though this was hardly proof positive; he might just be avoiding the question as always.

Now was probably not the time to probe.

Christine cleared her throat. “Well then, we can agree that one’s soulmate is a private matter?”

“Minx,” Erik muttered petulantly.

“Don’t insult Christine,” Raoul said.

“Oh, you shut up.”

“We can agree on that?” Christine said, raising her voice slightly.

“Fine, yes. I’ll admit to the possibility of… friendship… between you and this goose-driven piece of—”

“That’s my soulmate you’re talking about,” Christine warned.

“…Vicomte,” Erik finished. “But if I hear about the two of you getting engaged in a couple months, you’ll see the consequences. Don’t think I’ll be soft just because you’ve found your soulmate. You made an oath to follow only your career, to never love a man…”

“Then we’ll talk then.” Christine smiled tightly. “And for now, would you mind untying my soulmate from that chair?”

Erik huffed. But he obeyed, and grumblingly offered them the use of his gondola so they could take the watery shortcut out.

* * *

“You know,” Christine mused, as they made their way down the stream, “it wouldn’t be the worst idea for us to get married.”

“Philippe,” Raoul said, “would murder me. Or you, more likely.” He smiled apologetically.

“You’re probably right. Might be funny, though.”

“Christine.”

“I’m joking, dear. No need to work yourself up. Do you want me to row for a while?”

“If you don’t mind.”

She took the oars. “Of course not. Now tell me, have any reporters been to see you since last time we talked? They haven’t left me alone… of course it’s easier to approach a singer than a Vicomte, you have your distance from the press, but that’s all the more reason you should be prepared, you have no experience…”

So they went on, following the flow of the water. Far away, on the banks of the Seine, a goose was gobbling down water rushes. It needed the energy. Only the next day, it had been assigned a more difficult target: Carlotta Giudicelli, a woman who had already swatted it once. It grinned—as much as a beak could grin—thinking of the challenge. Ah, a chance to use its teeth on a worthy opponent! And to be in the public eye again. It preened the feathers of its wing, thinking of how the audience would stare again. Oh, but these were delicious rushes. Better not to get ahead of ones self. It took another bite of greens. One lived for small pleasures, after all, not merely for fame and victory: the savoring of a quiet dinner, the pleasure of a job well done.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt of "platonic Raoul/Christine soulmates plus "The soulmate goose of enforcement AU" (with Erik misunderstanding Everything)". YES.  
> I love R & C as platonic soulmates... I like it, it's good.  
> Comments very welcome, or come chill on tumblr at convenientalias.


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